


Hot in the City

by Rioghna



Category: Witchblade (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-04 23:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15157958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rioghna/pseuds/Rioghna
Summary: This is an old story I wrote years ago, in a summer much like this one.  Somehow this seemed the time to pull it out.





	Hot in the City

Hot in the City

It was hot- oppressively, unbearably, unbelievably hot. The heat was pouring in through the windows all flung wide in the vain hope of catching some hint of a breeze. It had actually been one of the worst days she had ever had. The problem was the heat. While the usual collection of thieves, knee breakers, and career criminals were hiding in their holes trying to stay cool, everyone else in New York City who couldn't get out was suffering from a severe case of heat frustration.

Sara and Jake spent the day writing paper on a domestic dispute that had gotten out of hand when the woman's brother had decided to intervene with a large bat, and a brawl between two people in the lottery line at the local bodega had ended with one of them knifing the other. Both homicides had been unpremeditated and the suspects had not even tried to flee. To make matters worse, the air conditioning in the car Jake had checked out from the garage was reduced to 4/50 and on the streets of New York a car rarely made it to more than 35 miles per hour, forget 50.

Arriving back at the one-one, Sara discovered that the air conditioner there was only working enough to stir the heavy, humid air around a little. Finally, after a long and frustratingly hot day she had gotten rid of the rookie and rushed home. The Buell at least gave her a little wind in her hair and the thought of cool comfort waiting at home kept her going.

Yesterday, on her day off she had fought, forced, and swore the large, ancient window unit into the open window opposite her bed and turned it on. By now the apartment should be almost refrigerated. Instead she walked into an overheated oven and the last painful, grinding, death rattle of the faithful old machine. Sara screamed at it, smacked it, and finally gave it a good, solid kick. The A/C coughed once, gave a loud *thunk*, and died completely.

It was the last straw. Sara flung open the window and after eyeballing it carefully, she tipped the dead air con into a open dumpster conveniently located beneath her window. After catching her breath, she flung open all the windows and retreated to the bathroom for a shower.

Now she lay on the bed, her hair still slightly damp, the cotton boxer shorts and tank top clinging to her in the still, humid air, and wishing frantically that she had the energy to get dressed and head for the nearest restaurant with air conditioning. But that would involve moving, and right now moving was more than she could manage. Laying there, she felt a little tingle. No vision, just a kind of pins and needles sensation. She opened one eye and glanced around one side of the room. Nothing, just the bookshelf, her weights, a stack of CDs that had overflowed the shelf, knocked over this morning while she was trying to get ready for work and still there. She closed her eye but the sensation came again, teasing at the edge of her senses.

Slowly she opened the other eye. Windows, wide open, to catch the hint of a breeze, sofa, shelf, other window looking out onto the fire escape, other bookshelf, fire escape?! Both eyes snapped open and back to the window that went onto the black iron fire escape. And standing on the fire escape, a figure dressed in black Nottingham.

Sara looked at him standing there in the breathless heat. He had ditched the heavy winter top coat for a trench when spring came, and now the trench was gone as well. Still he was wearing the usual black, this time a black pencil neck dress shirt tucked into black trousers. She didn't have to see his hands to guess that they were encased in the ubiquitous black leather gloves. Just watching him standing there was making her woozy and a little sick.

"Hey Nottingham, in or out, but stop blocking my window, I’m trying to catch a breeze."

Ian looked startled. Usually Saras reaction to his surveillance when she caught him at it was to either ignore him or order him away, usually with a wide variety of invectives and the odd threat to either shoot him, or throw something hard and heavy at him. Still, he looked around. Realising that there was no place to stand on the fire escape that was not blocking a window and having given up his post across the street when the heat off the tarred roof had almost overwhelmed even his iron constitution, he lowered his head and stepped carefully into the apartment.

He stood there awkwardly for a moment, enjoying the fact that she had invited him in for once. Well, perhaps invited was too strong a word, but it had been one of the choices offered which was closer than he usually got. For a moment he simply savoured the sensation. Then he realised that he was, in fact still standing in front of the windows. A little self consciously he slid into a spot that would not impede the air flow from any of the open windows, even though he was fairly certain that her chances of catching even the faintest of breezes was practically nonexistent. The air was too thick, too still. Even his employer, who never let something as trivial as the weather stand in his way, had opted to work from the comfort of the mansion today, being uninclined to stir himself into the enervating heat. Actually that had been a blessing. With Irons safely behind the estate walls, he had been free to spend his day shadowing Sara.

It had actually been something of a challenge, and one he had enjoyed, practicing skills that he rarely extended. A man in black in this heat had to work not to stand out, which was why he had traded his usual attire for this sort of young businessman chic. He only wished for the first time in years that he could be rid of his gloves. The heat and trapped moisture were making his hands clammy and waterlogged inside them, in spite of being the finest, thinnest leather available. It made him feel slightly clumsy though usually he did not even notice them. The new found awareness was uncomfortable and annoying.

"So what do you want, Nottingham? Shouldn't you be off watching Irons’ expensive ass? You have some new bit of crypto-crap for me, some kind of message? Or are you just here to watch me sweat?"

"I..." he started but stopped when he realised that nothing that had first sprung to mind would either sound good or make sense. Instead he took the time he needed to find something better to say.

Sara, perhaps realising suddenly the vulnerability of her position, rolled over on her stomach and was now watching him, green eyes staring out of the curtain of hair as she lay there, head propped up on crossed arms, watching him with and unreadable expression through the veil of heat and discomfort.

"Listen, if you have something to tell me, do it and go, or better yet, leave a note. I am too hot and too tired to deal with absolutely anything at this exact moment so unless someone is going to attack me right now or the ceiling is going to fall in, it is not important enough to make me move right now."

"I bring no message, Sara. You are in no more or less danger than you are on any other day, unless it is from the heat."

"You should talk; you are the one walking around in stalker drag. Just looking at you makes me hotter, so if you haven't got anything to say, why don't you crawl back under your nice cool rock and leave me alone to broil in peace." With that final word Sara allowed her head to drop back onto her arms.

"My duty is to see to your safety. Perhaps I could take you somewhere cooler?"

"First, that would require me moving, and second, it would mean that I trusted you enough to go anywhere with you. Besides, where would we go?"

Ian took a moment to contemplate her words. Where could he take her that would be more comfortable and would make her happy? He broke it down, what was it that Sara did like? She enjoyed her motorcycle, movies, good food although she was not much of a cook, playing pool in that little dive down the street, boxing. He wished that he could call his master. Here was an opportunity to make himself useful to his lady and work towards a greater acceptance and there was no way to get advice. _You are on your own, go with your instincts._

"I could take you to your gym?" he said making it more of a question.

"Closed due to heat, no A/C. Got any other bright ideas?"

"I could take you to mine." His answer was simple, straightforward and absolutely...

"Wrong! What makes you think I would agree to go back to that mausoleum?"

"You misunderstand me." Sara looked at him, stunned. It was hot and she was simmering in her own juices, fighting with Nottingham was doing nothing but raising her temperature. "There is a fully equipped gymnasium at the office. It should be deserted at this hour. There is air conditioning and also a swimming pool."

"Yeah, and I am going to strip down where your boss can see me, why?" she asked, although he could tell that her denial was less vehement than it had been. Obviously he managed to get her attention, now he just had to keep it.

"Mr. Irons did not go into the office today."

"Too hot to break a sweat, I'm sure," she said, but the offer seemed genuine and appealing and a workout with some time in air conditioning beat the alternative. "All right, Nottingham, this time I'll take you up on it. But don't get any ideas. I still don't like you following me around or watching my every move, you understand?"

Ian nodded and tried not to smile. He was growing on her, gaining some small measure of acceptance without advice from Irons, without her ever realising. It was not much, this opportunity to serve her in a small way, but perhaps it was a good beginning.

Sara pushed herself up off the bed and Ian turned his back to allow her some privacy. She almost laughed. _The guy watches me day and night but turns his back in the same room. Men, go figure._ She grabbed a couple things off her dresser and went into the bathroom to change. When she came out, he was still standing there where she left him, back turned, gazing intently out the window.

"Anyone waiting out there to ambush us?"

"No Sara, I think that they have all reconsidered in light of the heat."

 

The drive was pure heaven, though Sara would never admit it to him. Ian had led her out to a black SUV, generic on the outside, but inside the tinted windows it was all electronics and leather upholstery. He had thoughtfully slipped down while she was changing and turned the A/C on. When the door was open, a blast of ice cold air blew out on her.  As Sara settled into the comfortable seat she was trying to keep her face neutral. She had no desire to let Nottingham know how good it felt.

Something inside her resisted the idea that he could actually do something helpful. When it came down to it, in spite of the fact that he had helped her occasionally and never actually hurt her, she just could not bring himself to trust him. Maybe if it wasn't for Irons then she would be a little more accepting, but even that she was unsure of. Irons just creeped her out. Something about the way he looked at her, like he wanted something that she did not understand and didn't want to understand. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was something else, but now was not the time for deep introspection.

All too soon they were pulling into a garage next to the massive glass and steel phallus that was home to Vorschlag Industries. Getting out of the car was difficult, leaving behind the wonderful arctic blast of the car. Outside the air as hot and humid as before but she knew that the building would be cooler if only because Irons wouldn't put up with discomfort in his workspace. She followed Nottingham, who had not said a word since she had come out of the bathroom.

There was no hold up as the two of them were waved past the security desk at the employee entrance. Still Nottingham remained silent as he took her into a part of the building she had never seen. He opened a door and motioned her inside. The facilities were clean, well lit and equipped with all kinds of state of the art gear that Sara didn't get. He led her to another room with free weights, incline benches, mats and heavy and speed bags. This was much more to her taste and Sara finally opened her mouth to say so.

"Thank you, Sara. You may feel free to use it any time," he paused and gave her an almost gentle smile, so at odds with his tough guy image. "It is my honour to help you." With that little bomb shell he led her across the room, directing her toward the ladies locker room and having given her directions to the swimming pool, he excused himself and left her alone.

Sara had to admit it was nice. After working through her usual workout and taking out her frustrations on the heavy bag, she checked out the pool. Since she was still alone Sara decided that it was safe enough and slipped into her suit for a swim. Nottingham was either invisible or he figured she was safe enough here not to need him watching her every move, so she relaxed and enjoyed herself. The water was cool, clear and wonderfully refreshing. Standing in the shower afterward she almost regretted that she had to return to her boiler room of an apartment.

After dressing, Sara made her way to the door. Nottingham was waiting outside the gym, the cell phone attached to his ear. He nodded and with a couple of terse words obviously not directed at his boss, he closed the phone with a sharp click.

"Where may I take you now?" he asked as he turned his full attention to her. Fir the first time Sara noticed the way he gave her his complete attention. If it was anyone else, it would be kind of flattering, she thought. Why does Nottingham bug me so much?

Because he is a tweaked ex-super soldier with Irons pulling his strings?

Yeah, that would do it. I wonder though...

Stop, wait, don't go there!

"Where would you like to go?" Ian asked, his soft voice breaking through her confused thoughts.

"Back to my place, I suppose," she said reluctantly. The thought of going back to the heat was not exactly thrilling.

"Would you like to have dinner first? I could take you somewhere". He was trying to be helpful. While Sara had been working out, he had called Irons. His masters orders were simple, make himself available to Sara while avoiding answering any questions that might compromise their position. Ian doubted that in her current mood she would be up to asking anything.

"With you?" she asked incredulously before she could stop herself.

"I will wait in the car." He tried to cover the hurt in his words with an outward calm.

"I'm sorry," she said. The guy had been nice to her and once again she was sitting there being foot in mouth girl. Dinner sounded pretty good actually, although she had not really thought anything about dinner with Nottingham. Still she could feel her stomach rumbling and a nice big burger in a place with A/C sounded pretty good as well, Nottingham or no.

"Sure, there is a diner over on 26th that has pretty good burgers."

"Very well," he said as he turned the big car onto Broadway heading south.

The man must have the worlds best parking mojo, Sara thought as he pulled up to parking meter that was miraculously free and legal in front of the diner. Ian was out of the car and around to open her door before she could even free herself from the seat belt. "Don't do that," she said waspishly as she slid out of the seat. Ian merely stood there with his head down and allowed her to step past him.

"Well, are you coming?" she asked as she reached for the door.

"I can remain here if..."

"Come on Nottingham. Even I'm not that big a bitch. I'll buy you a burger."

Stunned, the bodyguard obediently hit the button securing the car. He feed the meter blindly while watching Sara go in and take a booth by the window. Window, danger, clear shot, rang vaguely threw his brain, still trying to process the fact that she had asked him to join her, him! His heart swelled like a balloon at the thought. It took him more than a moment to realise that he had run out of quarters, maxed out the meter time and was trying for the third or forth time to make the meter take a nickel. Putting the rest of the change in his pocket, he followed her.

 

Sara already had the menu open in front of her when Ian eased his way cautiously into the vinyl seat across from her. The place was pleasantly cool and the booth she chose, while putting him in the uncomfortable position of sitting with his back to the door, still left him a view of the kitchen and rear exits. The diner also sported a mirrored back wall, allowing him to keep both in sight.

"Sara, this table..." he started, pointing to the street and the openness of their position.

"Lighten up, Nottingham. Like you said, most of the people who are out to get me are always out to there. They are not anymore likely to attack now." She was obviously in a much better mood than she had been before. It seemed that his attempts to please her had succeeded at least in part. Ian nodded and turned his attention toward the menu.

The food was standard diner fare, the sort of sandwich and fried potato food that he knew Sara was fond of. The list of hamburger toppings alone was astonishing to him. It was not the kind of food he was used to. Irons was a connoisseur of fine food and whether Ian was eating with the staff, alone in the kitchen or a quiet evening with his father, it almost never involved deep fried grease. He could vaguely remember the last time he had eaten a hamburger was on base in the early days of his military career.

"Wat'll ya have?" the waitress said. Ian looked up from the woman standing over him, to Sara, both waiting for him.

"Give us a few," Sara said. She noticed that Nottingham had kind of a deer in the headlights look on his face. The waitress flounced off to another table and Sara turned to the black clad man on the other side of the table. This was the first time she really looked at him today. Somehow she had just noticed the tall, black figure but she hadn't seen him. Ian had his long hair pulled back in a ponytail and had shaved his beard close to the jaw. The shirt he wore was a black dress shirt, lighter and more fitted than the bulky sweater and coat she was used to seeing him in. Looking at him now, he was more like a young executive than a young executioner. _Actually he's kinda cute, if it weren't for that whole stalker thing._

_Don't even think that way, this is Nottingham for crying out loud, he isn't even my type._

Suddenly she could almost hear Danny's voice- _your preference for multi-pierced, tattoo-covered drummers and other sorts of nocturnal self destructive bad boys..._ She brushed it off.

_Well he's nocturnal. I wonder if he would tell me if he had a tat?_

Rather than chase those thoughts, she turned toward the man himself. "So Nottin...er...Ian, you done with the menu, the waitress is looking antsy." Ian glanced at the menu with its multitude of choices and then looked back at Sara. He was as confused as ever.

"I will have what you are having, Sara," he said with what, he hoped was a respectful smile.

 

"Not really a burger and fry kind of guy, huh?" she asked, but she was smiling. "Guessing that it is not something Irons would approve of."

Ian tried to picture Irons, ever elegant, eating one of the big, sloppy hamburgers that he had seen being carried from the kitchen. "Uh, no."

"Well, I hope you're hungry," she said, waving to the passing waitress that she was ready to order.

"Yeah?. the waitress said. She looked at Ian and gave him a smile, almost ignoring Sara. The bodyguard returned the smile cautiously, but with little warmth, not sure exactly how to react, not wanting to anger Sara. Women, he had noticed, sometimes smiled at him or gave him a bit of attention, though usually if Irons was around the attention immediately transferred to him. He never really understood it, he never spent much time around women. It was important, he had been told, to understand that some women used their bodies and attentions to get and maintain control. Love was something of little or no importance in comparison with duty and honour.

"I'll order, okay. honey?" Sara said with a big fake smile. Ian merely nodded at Sara, no clue what she was doing. The waitress gave her a saccharine smile.

"What'll ya' have?" the woman asked. While Sara ordered, he sat there and tried to understand the mysterious behaviour.

"Sorry Ian," Sara said as soon as the waitress left. "I just hate it when some chick flirting with a guy I'm sitting with right in front of my face."

"But Sara, I..."

"If you're interested in her, be my guest, but wait till I'm not around, okay? It's just rude."

"I am not! There is no reason for you to be uncomfortable."

"Yeah, sorry, I just hate smarmy waitresses. Well, after dinner I guess it is back home. At least by then the sun will have been down long enough that maybe it'll be cooler."

"Sara, I do not wish to upset you, but..."

"What, Nottingham?"

"Will you hear me out first, please?" Sara looked at him. Ian had been incredibly nice to her tonight. He hadn’t even said anything cryptic all night.

"All right, I'll try. But I am not good at keeping my mouth shut, you know that."

"I would not suggest this if I did not wish to help."

"If you're going to suggest I come and stay with you and your boss..."

"I know you would not. I was going to say that Vorschlag maintains a few corporate apartments. I am certain that Mr. Irons would allow you..."

"No," Sara wanted to get angry, scream, and yell, but she didn't really have the energy. He just didn't understand her reluctance to accept his boss’ help, he couldn't see the chains he had lived in them so long. But Sara saw them, saw the trap. She was not going to let herself get caught. Maybe she could eventually explain it to him. _Assuming I want to. Geeze this is still Nottingham, what am I thinking?_ But in the back of her mind she knew she just wasn't feeling as vehement as she usually did.

"I could ask him on your behalf?" Ian offered, though he knew that she would not agree, something would not let her accept anything if his employer was behind it.

"No, that’s okay. Really," she said as the food arrived, covering the awkward moment.

 

Ian watched her, trying to figure out how to approach it. Taking a moment, he looked at Sara, already deep in enjoyment of her burger. Subtly, he slipped off his ring and the black leather gloves. The ring went back on his finger, the gloves into his pocket. After watching Sara eat for several minutes, he cautiously picked up the enormous sandwich.

"Go on, it’s not going to fight back."

With Sara watching, he took one cautious bite. It was easy after that. The burger was good, much better than the tasteless patties they had tried to foist off on them in the service or even further distant and barely remembered the small burgers from school picnics as they tried to make them feel like the rest of the world. He watched and copied Sara as she dunked her fries in ketchup and followed it up with a larger swig of milkshake.

"Now you see why I work out," she said between bites. Her obvious enjoyment enhanced the flavour of the food and soon he found himself with an empty plate and glass. "Guess you liked it?" Sara was scooping up the last of her fries as she waited.

"Yes, I did, thank you."

"Ah, hey, you did me a favour, I did you one, we're even."

"There is no need. It is my..."

"Don't start giving me all that duty bullshit. Things have been nice so far. I could almost see..."

"Yes Sara?" he asked.

"Nothing, forget it," she said. She was starting to get a little pissed at him. _You mean at yourself. You relax around him and it is his fault? How is that fair?_

_Life isn't fair. If it were fair Danny, Maria even my Dad, they would all still be here. Get close to people, and all you get is hurt._

_Like what you‘re doing? Trying to even drive away your stalker? He's been handy so far. She looked across the table at Ian, patiently waiting for her to continue. She didn't get it. Here was this guy, this super soldier, hyper trained bodyguard stalker who was content to spend his spare time following her around, watching her back. Sort of like having a partner, only silent and mildly freaky. Okay, major freaky, but since when has my life been anything less than a PT Barnum sideshow?_ She looked across the table, at him again, still sitting. Although he tried not to, his eyes seemed to focus on her. He still kept an eye on the mirror, the door, the street outside, but those were like reflex actions, she was his main focus. All the introspection was starting to bug her anyway, so she waved down the waitress and endured another session of her eye batting in Nottingham’s general direction in order to get the bill. To give him credit, Ian seems even more discomfited by the attention, continuing to keep his eyes and mind on Sara.

Well, that was something anyway.

 

As she collected the bill, he reached for his wallet, having no intention of allowing her to pay for his meal or hers. The argument that followed was quick and remarkably amicable as Sara explained that not only was she not going to let him pick up the check, she would not even let him pay for his own. The friendly bickering brought a flicker of hope that she was getting more comfortable with him. She finally consented magnanimously to allow him to pay the tip, even though she made it clear that she didn't think there was much reason for one.

With the financial details out of the way, the two of them settled into the car and headed down 8th Ave. _Ian doesn't drive like a New Yorker_ , Sara thought to herself. _He's too calm_. It was probably just the fact that he was not swearing at the black car service Lincoln that had just cut them off, although one look at his face reassured her that he was in fact human. While there was no gesture, no swearing, the look on his face was black enough to melt metal, and he put his foot down so that the vehicle sped past the other car. Sara barely had time to register the change before Nottingham had returned the favour, cutting him off and leaving him on the far side just as the light changed.

Ian glanced over at Sara to see how she was doing, only to see the new light of respect in her eyes. Obviously, far from earning her anger for reckless driving, he had somehow managed to make himself more normal in her eyes. It might not be much, but it was a start. He was still working on other ideas to build on this new foundation while keeping Irons’ strictures sharply in mind. Perhaps there was a way to make her happy without stepping outside the boundaries.

The two of them arrived at Sara’s building. Even though it was late, the street was bustling. There was a stream of water flowing from the hydrant that had obviously been cracked open some time before she arrived. There was no way the kids that were playing in it could have popped it open, and she was feeling a little too full to feel like rousting them about it anyway. It was too damn hot. Outside her building, like every other building and flat surface, a crowd of people were sitting or leaning against the building, drinking a combination of beer, soda, even a few designer bottles of water. Stoop sitting was a common New York activity any time of the year except winter, although at this time of year, it was almost mandatory. Someone had even brought the chair out for old Mrs. Williams on the first floor who was no longer quite spry enough to settle on the stoop but had been a fixture of neighbourhood life for so long that no one would think about leaving her out.

"Well, they should at least give us a window unit apiece," one of her neighbours was saying to Mrs. Williams. "Last year I bought that new one and it blew the circuit breaker. They just can’t handle the load."

"That is what you get for the joy of pre war, not like the owners are going to retrofit this place for A/C," another said, nodding as Sara and Ian walked up to the steps.

"Not like we could afford the rent increase if they did," Sara said, adding her two cents. There was a murmur of agreement along with nods of welcome to her, and some frankly curious looks at Nottingham.

"Who's your friend, Pez?" Will from down the hall asked. He was looking a little more appreciatively than Sara thought was necessary. She reached out and grabbed Ian hand pulling him a little closer, just to make it clear. Will was a nice guy, and she did not want him getting hurt if Ian decided that him getting a little more friendly was something else.

"This is Ian, he, uh, I know him through work," she said vaguely, hoping they would assume he was another cop. At least that way they would not think anything of it if he was caught hanging around. "Ian, Mrs. Williams from the ground floor, Will, he is down the hall from me, that is Fred in the back there, Mike and Ellen, they are below me. That is John there, and Lydia. I think that covers everyone." There were polite nods all around, a little bit of curiosity but nothing out of bounds. The couple identified as Mike and Ellen moved over and offered Sara a place on their step, and since it seemed to be expected, Ian found a place to lean against the stonework next to her.

"Sara, Ian, cold one?" Mike asked from his place by the door. "I'm going to get one anyway."

Sara nodded, and after taking note of the others who wanted a refill, he collected the empty bottles, dropping them on the other side of the steps in a trash can with a large sticker proclaiming 'New York City Recycles' on it in big white letters and disappeared through the door. The conversation continued on various themes, most of them related to heat and or ways to deal with it. Mrs. Williams asked Ian a couple of questions, but Sara managed to turn them aside. Mike returned and handed out ice cold bottles of Brooklyn Brown Ale, a popular microbrew across the river, and then settled back next to his wife on the step.

Ian leaned back and listened to the conversation around him. This was nice, this inclusion. He had not felt like this in a long time. He wondered how they would feel about him if they knew who he really was, what he really did for a living. Sara had not lied, they had met while she was working but still... While he stood there trying to look casual, he took a cautious sip of the bottle that her neighbour had been so thoughtful to provide. The flavour was interesting. He was not allowed to drink particularly, although he had upon occasion had a small glass of wine while dining with Irons. The flavour of the beer was as different from that as possible and he was not sure how he liked it. Thinking that a balance between polite and cautious was best when he still had the long drive back to the mansion tonight, he decided to nurse it as long as was necessary.

Sara finished her beer, and with a nod to Ian, dropped her glass in the can and with him in tow, made her way up to her apartment. "Well, at least it is cooler than it was," she said, walking into the apartment. "I think that there's a bit more breeze now." Ian was looking around the apartment, double checking that it was still as safe and as empty as when they had left. "You can pour that down the sink if you want," she told him, pointing to the beer still held in his hand. She saw that he had not put his gloves back on after dinner and his hands were pale right to the cuffs of his shirt. He saw her watching and reached into his pocket. "Nottingham, you don't have to put those things back on, it is way too hot."

"I am not supposed to..."

"Screw Irons, I won't tell him if you don't. Look, you have been all right tonight. This does not mean I'm okay with you haunting me all the time, or that I'm going to change my mind about Irons."

"What does it mean?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Sara was surprised, as much by him talking to her like that as by the answer she almost give. She took a minute, trying to figure out how she wanted to phrase what was going on in her head. Just letting him into her life, accepting all the crimes that she was pretty sure he had committed without batting an eye, it was not her style. _Actually, it is impulsive, compassionate, and just a little nuts, it is definitely your style. The question is, how do I explain all this without him taking it wrong?_ "I'm just saying that maybe I'll try to bust your chops so much. Providing you don't do anything that I have to arrest you for."

"I will do my best, Sara. Thank you." With that final word he was gone, out the door almost faster than she could see him. The only sign that he had ever been there was the cold, empty bottle left on the kitchen counter.

 

Sara returned to her apartment after her shift in a worse mood than the day before. The heat was actually even worse than the day before. As for her partner, Jake had been running off at the mouth non stop all day. It seemed that, far from the heat bothering him; it made him even mouthier than before. Then there were the calls, this time an assault that got out of hand and an armed robbery that went bad when the man behind the register at the Mom and Pop bodega pulled a shotgun. The shotgun missed, the perp didn't. They had caught the call on their way back from the first scene, and it had been almost a relief to leave Jake to handle the victim and deal with CSU.

Somehow the thought of chasing an armed man who had just killed some poor guy for the $50 bucks in the drawer was more comfortable than spending a second longer with her partner. She followed him out the back and down an alley. For a moment there Sara thought she had lost him, but then she had seen a flash of black, like a sleeve pointing her in the right direction. Nottingham. There was a little flash of comfort, the security of a silent back up, emphasis at the moment on the word Silent. She didn't bother to stick around to be sure, but followed through the fence and down into the dead end where she finally found her suspect hiding behind a big construction dumper.

The elevator was broken again, so Sara made her way slowly up the stairs to her apartment, cursing the whole time. _Wonder if I could call Nottingham about another go at that gym? The pool sounds really good about now,_ she thought, dreading the heat that she knew was waiting inside the apartment. _What am I thinking? I must be hot and tired; maybe I should try a shower, or maybe a cool bath._

Sara clicked the lock and pushed open the door, closing her eyes in anticipation of the rush of heat escaping the apartment. Nothing. She opened an eye cautiously, looking to see what was wrong, what had happened. There was a faint hum and the drapes near the fire escape were billowing in the cold air. Not cool, not a hint of a breeze, honest to god COLD air. Stepping suspiciously into the apartment, she noticed the hum of a very nice, very expensive window unit purring away happily next to the metro shelves. On the table, propped up against a vase containing a single rose was a note.

_Dear Sara, please accept the small token of my respect. Be reassured, these are from me personally, Mr. Irons was in no way responsible.  
N_

Sara smiled in spite of herself. It was really nice and thoughtful of him and while part of her wanted to throw them back in his face, on the other hand, in light of the nice cool air she was certainly willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was nice and cold on the couch and moving toward the bedroom end of the loft she thought about sleeping there, those window units were rarely strong enough to cool the entire place. She dropped her shirt on the bed and realised that she was still in a cool zone, another unit humming away in the window near her bed. _Perhaps I should be nicer to him, just a little._

An hour later, Sara was settled on the couch in her shorts, a cold bottle of water beside her and a book in her hand when she felt something. It wasn't much, just a little bit of a brush. She looked up, and spotted Ian looking in from the fire escape. He was peering in at her, probably deciding if she was angry about his little surprise. It took her less than a minute to make her decision. Walking over, she opened the window in front of the fire escape. "Hey Nottingham, why don't you come in?"

 

Fini?

**Author's Note:**

> So, this story is completely inspired by living in NYC, where pre-War means ‘without A/C’ and stoop sitting is a summer occupation at all hours. Yes, I am broiling in NYC, as I was when I wrote this originally. The weather inspired me to post it. Enjoy and do that little thing you do.


End file.
